From "Not Dead" to "Alive"

Quoting her mother, Diane Von Furstenberg said, "There are two types of survivors, those who don't die, and those who live."

In my own journey of surviving I have belonged to both of these categories. This past April marked five years since I was raped. For the first three years after the assault my body was breathing, but my heart felt like it had died in that room. 

There was a secret I couldn't bring myself to say aloud - I wished he had killed me that day. 

This is the first time I'm sharing that sentence outside of a therapy room. I do it for the purpose of creating the contrast between then and now. For those years I was the type of survivor who didn't die. In the past two years I have become the survivor who lived. 

Earlier this year when I took a step back and looked around at my life I realized I was living my dreams. 

In the past five years my main goals have been:

• Stay alive
• Graduate high school on time
• Stay out of the hospital
• Go to college
• Live on my own
• Get involved in mental health advocacy
• Serve a mission 

Some of these look similar to what other 20 year olds might have on their list of goals, but they often weren't a given. My Freshman year of high school was the only one I attended full time and on campus. Graduating with my class wasn't always a guarantee.

I was once told that I should expect hospitalizations to be continuous part of my life. I was told college and living alone were things I might not be able to do, and definitely not at 18. 

But this is my life. I will never be a person who has never been raped, but the defining choices of my life will be mine, not my perpetrators. We all have the power to decide who we want to be. 

Coming to a place where I felt alive again took time and a lot of work. I had to accept that I was different now, but that different didn't mean worse. Coming to a place where I felt alive again wasn't something anyone could do for me. In large part going from "not dead" to "alive" was a choice. 

A choice to fight. A choice to put one foot in front of the other. A choice to change the way I viewed my assault and myself. And it's a choice I continue to make every day. 

The course of my life was changed in an instant. It has been five years and there are still things I have to work through, but I am so glad he did not kill me that day and I'm grateful that I never took my own life. 

How glorious it is to feel alive. 

How My Parents Helped Keep a Sucidial Child Safe

Although I have never done it I have no doubt parenting can be hard. When you add in parenting a child who’s struggling with mental illness, well, knowing how I was somedays I don’t know how my parents did it. 

There were times as a teenager where I was suicidal. My parents did a lot to try and keep me safe during that time. 

What my parents did helped keep me alive, but that doesn’t mean that if another parents child completed suicide that makes it the parents fault or that they didn’t do enough. Sometimes a parent can do everything right and it’s not enough. 

I am thankful that what my mom and dad did was. 

1. They locked up anything I could use to harm myself. 

My mom got a small safe to put in her closet. All the medications, scissors, razors, and anything else got locked in there. They put a lock on our pantry and knives were put in there. If my brothers or I wanted to cook something we had to ask my mom to unlock it. If I had a cold and needed Tylenol I had to ask for it  If my brothers or I wanted to shave we asked for a razor and then gave it back right after our shower. By locking up these items it greatly decreased my access to items that could become dangerous. 

2. I was not left home alone. 

Whenever I wasn’t safe either due to suicidal ideation or psychotic symptoms I was not left alone. My mom decreased the amount of days she worked to be home with me. When she was at work I went to someone’s house. We were lucky to have amazing people who would let me stay with them for a few hours, sometimes multiple days a week. When my mom wasn’t at work and had to go somewhere I had to go with her if my brother or Dad weren’t home. 

3. My mom checked in with me everyday. 

My therapist at the time liked me to rate the severity of my symptoms using a 1-10 scale. He had my mom check in with me every day to see how I was doing. I hated being asked so she would text me. She would send just the letters A, D, and S to stand for anxiety, depression, suicidal. I would text back three numbers to match. 

These were the three main actions my parents took to keep me safe when I was suicidal. They also got me the help I needed by taking me to a therapist, to see psychiatrists, and when necessary driving me down to the hospital at UCLA because it was significantly better than the one in my town. 

I revently did a training centered around suicide prevention which said that suicide is the most preventable cause of death.

If you or someone you know is struggling with suicide I urge you to take action. There is help available. Life can become better. 

Below are numbers for crisis hotlines/the text line. You don’t have to be actively suicidal to use the help lines. If you need someone to talk to or are in a mental health crisis of any time you can use them. I know the Kern County one will also provide you with resources available if wanted. 

Kern County Crisis Hotline:

1-800-991-5272

National Suicide Prevention Line:

1-800-273-8255

Crisis Text Line 

741-741

"Men Are That They Might Have Joy"

As a teenager I went to Mutual every Wednesday night at my church. It was a time for the youth ages 12-18 to get together. There we would learn about Jesus, do fun activities, and serve others. I have so many fond memories from the time spent at Mutual.

I remember one evening when I was probably 16 years old. Some of us girls were sitting around a table doing an activity. At one point during the night we were discussing scriptures and one that was brought up was 2 Nephi 2:25 which reads, "Adam fell that men might be; and men are, that they might have joy."

I remember later that night talking with my aunt about it, because at that time I did not like that scripture. I was in a major depressive episode and to me those words served as a reminder that I "should" be happy, but I wasn't.

I can look back at the scripture now in a different light. Now those words, "men are, that they might have joy" give me hope. They tell me that I am not here to be depressed. I am not here to be miserable or hurting. They remind me that happiness is what Heavenly Father wants me to be and that He has created a Plan of Happiness. They give me something to aim for.

It might help that I'm not currently struggling with depression, for which a characteristic is hopelessness, but I would like to believe that I've learned enough since I was 16 that if I ever did struggle like that again I would be able to see that scripture in a different light than I saw it back then.

I've learned that perspective is important. It's by design that we struggle; it is by design that I have the particular trials that I do. I've learned that the Atonement of Jesus Christ covers more than just my sins. His sacrifice made it possible for me to handle and overcome any obstacle I have including mental illness. Some trials can be overcome in this life and for others the time will come in the eternities.

There is a quote I like that I pulled off the Institute quote sheet from last night that says, "Our hope in the Atonement empowers us with eternal perspective. Such perspective allows us to look beyond the here and now into the promise of eternities." That is from Elder Steven E. Snow of the Seventy.

Sometimes we are commanded to aim for things that are not possible in this Earthly life, such as "be ye therefore perfect..." (Matthew 5:48) because that is what we are striving for. For me, because of my experiences, 2 Nephi 2:25 is the same, only it is possible in this life. It is possible to be happy and if we're are not at this moment the scripture gives us something to strive for, because "men are that they might have joy."

Twenty: The Birthday I Didn't Think I Would Make it To

Tomorrow (maybe today by the time I'm finished writing this) is my 20th birthday. Like I always do around my birthday I have been looking back at the past year and couple years that have got me to where I am today.

I have been thinking  about the fact that for several years I didn't think I would make it to twenty.

I started experiencing psychosis just a couple weeks after I turned 16. I experienced suicidal thoughts intermittently from 15-18, peaking when I was 17. I spent my 18th birthday in a Residential treatment facility.

Even when I was not actively suicidal my mental health was such that I could not envision a future for myself. I would be asked what I wanted to do with my life and I could give answers like, "I want to go on a mission." "I want to go to college." "I want to have a family." But I couldn't see it. They didn't seem possible and sometimes I honestly didn't believe I would live long enough to see those things happen.

Now here I am, at 10:47pm the night before I turn 20. I'm typing this from my dorm room because I am second-year, full-time college student. I can't go on a regular proselyting mission, but in January I am supposed to start a Service Mission at the Institute. I am a public speaker and advocate for mental illness.

It is crazy to look back on where I was two, three, and four years ago, then to look at where I am now. I am so glad I didn't kill myself. I am so grateful for the people I had in my life who helped me through that time and continue to provide support to me now. I grateful that I had the means and opportunity to receive good help.

I am glad I didn't kill myself, because now I see this whole life ahead of me. Now I can see a future for myself. In that future I graduate college and go to graduate school for Marriage and Family Therapy. In that future I get married and have children. In that future I serve my God where He calls me to serve. In that future I continue speaking anywhere they will have me to break down the stigma of mental illness and let people know that their life can be so much more than their diagnosis.

I have a future now, I'm not going to waste it.

Mental Illness Should Not be a Halloween Costume

Happy Halloween everyone!

Today is a day dedicated to treats, tricks, and scares. Halloween is a very commercialized "holiday" that capitalizes on people's fears. But what happens when what people are afraid of are other people?

Every year around this time I see more and more online about mental illness, but it is not what I want to be seeing. Instead I see Halloween costumes letting people dress up as a "schizo," "psycho...," or even an "escaped mental patient."

These are some of them:

This year my town's big haunted house is doing an Insane Asylum theme. They did reach out to me and let me know that it is meant to be a state hospital that closed down 50 years ago leaving the people inside. They said they are not trying to make fun of people with mental illness, but are in the industry of capitalizing on people's fears. She apologized if she had offended me. 

I appreciated this and I understand as a business they want to go with what sells. I never thought they were trying to personally attack people with mental illness. I still think it is wrong. 

Even if it is meant to be 50 years ago in an abandoned state hospital in which I know patients were treated horribly, they are still portraying people with mental illness with the goal to scare people. 

That is the main problem. That the stigma and fear of mentally ill individuals is so powerful that is what would get the most attention. 

"People fear what they don't understand." I have grown up hearing that. It is part of the reason I write about mental illness, because so often if their lives have not been touched by it in some way individuals don't know what it is really like. 

Part of the reason these Halloween festivities bother me so much is not just because I have mental illnesses. It's because for two years of my life I had the diagnosis of Schizoaffective. It's because I have had psychotic episodes. It's because I have spent considerable amounts of time in mental hospitals. 

The types of people being portrayed is me and I am nothing like those costumes or how the haunted house will portray people like me. Most of us who struggle with mental illness aren't.

I have met many many people with many diagnosis during my last few years. When you're in hospitals you have the opportunity to meet a wide range of people. Those opportunities showed me that no matter what the diagnosis attached to them is, people are people. Some just have extra challenges and they work harder than you will ever be able to comprehend to live despite them.

The problem with portraying those with mental illness as scary, violent, and dangerous is that they are such powerful images they become stuck in a persons mind. In reality individuals who have a mental illness are more likely to be the victim of a crime than the perpetrator. 

According to mentalhealth.gov "The vast majority of people with mental health problems are no more likely to be violent than anyone else. Most people with mental illness are not violent and only 3%-5% of violent acts can be attributed to individuals living with a serious mental illness. In fact, people with severe mental illnesses are over 10 times more likely to be victims of violent crime than the general population. You probably know someone with a mental health problem and don't even realize it, because many people with mental health problems are highly active and productive members of our communities."

I understand the appeal to be scary on Halloween. For people who choose to dress up it is one night a year where all of that is socially acceptable, but there are so many costumes out there which are scary (trust me) and don't promote stigma against people with mental illness. 

Unlike with a costume we don't get to leave our illnesses in the hamper tonight, but we do have to carry the stigma every single day. 

To My Suitemate Who Sees Me as More Than My Illnesses

Dear Suitemate,

When we met last year I knew we would become friends. We are similar in ways that made it easy for us to get along. I was so excited when you asked if I wanted to room together this year. We ended up compromising and living in the same suite (two rooms sharing a living room and bathroom) because I need to not have a roommate.

Last year you knew that I had chronic illnesses, but you did not know much of what my life was like with them. I was a little worried about how living together would change our relationship.

When we moved into the dorms in August my life was managed fairly well. There were a couple instances where it was more obvious I wasn't completely healthy like when I ended up in the ER on move in day, or when I passed out in our bathroom, but I was managing all aspects of my life just fine.

The last few weeks have been a little tougher with new problems emerging and although I was initially worried about how you being more aware of my symptoms would affect our relationship, I don't know how I could have done it without you.

You can tell when I don't feel well and are keenly perceptive. You let me know ever so subtly that you won't think less of me if I have to sit down for a minute to catch my breath, ask for help, or sit something out. You have taken on some responsibilities for ANCHOR when I couldn't handle them. You don't question me when I do things that "normal" 19 year olds don't do.
You have taken me to Urgent Care when I needed an IV, but couldn't drive myself. You check in to see how I'm doing and let me know you are there if I want to talk, but instead of asking questions you leave it up to me to decide how much I want to share.
You are also there if I need to be normal for a while with it having absolutely nothing to do with illnesses, symptoms, or treatments. 

The biggest worry I had was that our friendship would become about me being sick, but that never happened.
Our relationship is exactly like it was before. Perhaps the thing that means the most to me is that you don't treat me like I'm sick. You don't look down at me or act like I can't do certain things because of my illnesses. I am still invited when the group gets together even if I deny the invitation. You see me as the same person you knew before you learned about my illnesses and that means the world to me.

It's been a blessing to have you in my life.

Caitlin

Recovery Conference Speech

Hi guys, last Friday I had the incredible opportunity to be a Keynote speaker at the Kern Behavioral Health and Recovery Services annual Recovery Conference.
I was asked by a couple people to share my speech, so here it is. This is my story with mental illness and my thoughts on what recovery means.
Fair warning...it was a 15 minute speech so it's a little long.

Recovery in Motion

            Hi everyone! I am so grateful and incredibly humbled to be able to stand here today and talk with you about recovery and my journey with it.

            My story begins about four years ago when I was 15 years old. I was a Freshman in High School and mental illness never crossed my mind, that is, until I started struggling with it.

            My symptoms started out gradually and progressively became worse. About the time my Freshman year was ending I started experiencing symptoms of anxiety and depression. I did not know what was happening to me, but I felt like it wasn’t right and so I hid it from everyone around me.

            As my sophomore year was starting the depression was getting worse. I knew I needed help, but I was embarrassed and I didn’t know how to talk about it; so, I wrote my mom a note and left it on her pillow one night.

            I was blessed with parents who took what was happening seriously and my mom found a therapist for me to start seeing. This would be the therapist that I would stay with for the following two years. Despite getting on medication and being in therapy once a week my life started to unravel as I became more and more unstable.

            A few months after starting therapy for anxiety and depression I started experiencing psychotic symptoms that slowly became more severe. I was having auditory and visual hallucinations, I was delusional, and I became paranoid. I was given the diagnosis of Schizoaffective Disorder. That disorder began dictating my life.

            I had missed a significant number of days of my Sophomore year due to depression, but as the end of the year drew nearer my psychotic symptoms became such that I had to go on Home Study.

In May, when my classmates were taking their finals I was being admitted to what was then known as Good Samaritan Hospital for my first psychiatric hospitalization. In June I was hospitalized again this time in UCLA’s Resnick Neuropsychiatric Hospital. I came out relatively stable for the summer.

When August rolled around I wanted to go back to school. This launched me into my second psychotic episode. Most days I would end up hallucinating in a teacher’s classroom and the administration would have to call my mom to come take me home. I lasted about two weeks before going back on Home Study for the remainder of my Junior Year.

This time around the psychosis was worse than the first. I could barely read or write clearly. Some days I couldn’t think or talk clearly. My safety was a big concern and so I was unable to stay home alone or go anywhere without being watched by someone who knew about what was happening inside my mind. I felt like a prisoner. A prisoner to my mind and a prisoner in my home.

In December of 2014 I was hospitalized for the third time in UCLA. I left that stay less stable than my previous one. When my doctor came in to discharge me he told me I was going home because “there is nothing else we can do for you here.” That was incredibly discouraging to me, but it was also one of the driving factors to make me fight.

I have been told more times than I can count that I am a “complicated case.” I was told at one point that I should expect to have to be hospitalized every year or so of my life to be re-stabilized. For a long time I thought that was what my life was going to be, but I never wanted to fully resign myself to it. I had a choice to make. I chose ignore those who told me I could not doing something and I chose to fight. So I let my psychiatrist put me on what was probably the 20^th new medication and I showed up to every therapy appointment.

Do you know what happened? Things didn’t get better, not for a long time. In fact, they got worse for a little bit.

Around August of 2015 right as my Senior year was about to start the psychotic symptoms started becoming less and less, but my depression was bad again. You see, I had a secret. A secret of something that had happened two years prior. A secret I had dissociated from for about a year and kept quiet for another year, but my secret was about to kill me. I couldn’t say it out loud so I typed my therapist an email late one night.

What I told him was that in Spring of 2013, right before all my symptoms started seemingly out of no where, I had been raped by a man from my church. I didn’t know what dissociation was at the time, but my therapist explained it to me as the mind being a powerful tool. My mind made me forget about the trauma for a short time to protect itself from something I didn’t have the capacity to handle. The memories were still there, they just manifested as anxiety, depression, and psychotic symptoms.

All of a sudden all these little things we didn’t have answers for made sense. The pieces of the puzzle were all in place and we finally had a picture. I was grateful to just be believed. My biggest fear was that became of my history with hallucinations and delusions I wouldn’t be believed, but that was never the case. Telling my therapist about that assault opened the door for me to start working on the root of my problems and from there things started getting a bit better.

After telling my therapist I was hospitalized for the fourth time in UCLA. This was the first time I was being admitted for suicidal thoughts instead of psychosis. The diagnosis of Schizoaffective was taken away and labeled a misdiagnosis. My new one was PTSD – Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I was in UCLA for three weeks. I came home the day before Senior year started. I went to school for three weeks, but refused to talk to my therapist about the assault. I became actively suicidal and was sent back to UCLA for my fifth and final hospitalization.

I was there for another three weeks, but this time something had to change. I couldn’t keep living like this. I was three months away from turning 18. If I got admitted again the next time I would be in the adult unit and that terrified me.

So the decision was made and on September 27, 2015 I entered Destinations to Recovery, a residential treatment center in Topanga, California.

Destinations was the absolute best thing that could have happened to me. I was there for 10 weeks. In that time I worked with some therapists who taught me what a good therapist/client relationship can look like. They taught me how to trust. They taught me my life didn’t have to be a revolving door of hospitals. They taught me how to fight, how to believe in myself, and they taught me I was worth it.

My progress at Destinations was multi-faceted. I progressed in therapy to the point I was able to tell multiple therapists about my trauma. I learned how to trust others and gained a best friend out of my first roommate. I also learned how to have fun and feel safe again. We did multiple activities that were both fun and had a therapeutic benefit including surfing lessons, taking care of horses, and expressive art groups.

I spent both my 18^th birthday and Thanksgiving in Destinations. Thanksgiving especially was a really special day for me. All the families came, the chef made an awesome dinner, and we all had a good time together. The special part for me was how happy I was that day. I had spent the last two Thanksgivings psychotic and I felt like I had come so far.

I came out of Destinations in December of 2015 a completely different person. I was more stable than I had been in over two years, I was happy, I was strong, and I was determined to continue my progress. One of my first accomplishments was going back to school for my last semester. Not only did I graduate with my class, but I was in the top 75 of my class out of 500 students and I gave commencement address at the graduation ceremony.

Normally that is where I would conclude when asked to share “my story,” but today’s theme is “Recovery in Motion” so I wanted to be a little bit more transparent with you about what recovery means to me.

I used to think recovery and being recovered meant that one day I would get to a place where I would wake up and go about my life with anything relating to mental illness just a distant memory from another lifetime.

I have since come to the understanding that at least for me, that couldn’t be farther from the truth, because I continue to fight my mental illnesses.

I still struggle with my PTSD. I’m hypervigilant, I have flashbacks and nightmares. I have an anxious mind and I don’t sleep enough. I have not had a depressive episode in two years, but I still feel the depression sometimes.

These are things I have to deal with, but my life today is about more than just my symptoms. I am doing things that two years ago I would have never dreamed possible. I’m a college student at CSUB. I made the Dean’s List last year. I am the President of a Club and part of Health Outreach Committees on campus. I teach the three year olds at my church. I am a speaker and a writer, and I volunteer with the KBHRS Transitional Age Youth team.

Now I’m not telling you these things about me to say “oh look what I can do.” No. I am telling you this to let you know that struggling with mental illness doesn’t have to be the beginning and the end to your story.

Your life might be a little harder and you might have to do things a little differently, but that’s okay. I still see a therapist every week. I still take medication. I attend an awesome support group at Riverlakes. I make sure to schedule into my planner time to rest, time to reflect, and time to recharge. I carry coping skills with me wherever I go and if life become to overwhelming I give up one of the activities I am involved in, even if it is something I love, because my mental health must come above all else.

Guys, I am not special. Well, my mom tells me I’m special, but the things I have done and continue to do in order to maintain my mental health and live the life I want are simple. They are steps any one of us can take.

I have come to learn that my past and my illnesses do not have to be a weakness. I choose to use them as an asset. Sure, I will admit that from my mental illnesses have come some of my biggest weaknesses, but I have also gained strength and opportunities because of them I could have gotten no other way.

So today I want to challenge you to take a look into your own life. Whether you struggle with mental illness or some other adversity. Look at what you view as your biggest deficit or weakness. Now look a little deeper and see how that struggle has made you stronger. Use it to your advantage. It might not be easy to find, but every situation has at least two sides.

In that, is where I believe recovery comes from. Not in an absence of symptoms, but in a new way of viewing and managing our struggles. The power is within each of us to succeed and live a fulfilling life. You just have to find it.